Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(95)

It was Austin that drove the dagger into my heart even further when he confirmed that he knew she was there. That he was just too f*cked up to care. Reality set in, and it was then that I grasped I would be raising our baby by myself. I didn’t even contemplate getting an abortion. It wasn’t even on my spectrum of thinking.

“Daisy Mitchell,” the nurse announced, saying my real name.

This wasn’t Briggs who was doing this. This wasn’t me hiding behind someone I created to survive.

This. Was. Me.

The girl that died in the car with her parents was now alive and killing someone else in her life.

The irony was not lost on me.

When Molly, the little girl, said her mom had died and that she was there with her dad. That her father brought her to this hellhole and that he would find her. That he always found her.

It hit me like a ton of f*cking bricks. My parents had died too, and I didn’t have a choice in how my life turned out. I couldn’t do that to another innocent life.

Especially my baby.

What kind of mother would that make me?

I couldn’t be that selfish, even though I wanted this baby more than anything in this world. What if something happened to me? I’d leave it with their drug-addicted father or even f*cking worse, my uncle.

My child would become Molly.

My child would become me…

I contemplated adoption, but there was no way in Hell that I could have this baby, our baby growing inside me for nine months. The baby that I already loved with all my heart just to give it away to someone. I would end up keeping it.

The vicious cycle would never end.

There was no way out of it. I struggled with my emotions, with my choice, with my decision for over a week. There was no other choice to be had. I made the appointment, and I’ve hated myself ever since.

“Are you Daisy Mitchell? We’re ready for you,” the nurse announced again, holding the door open, waiting for me to come back in.

I grabbed my phone and walked back in. I followed her through a long corridor. Feeling as if I was being taken to my execution.

And in a way, I was.

She took me into a room that had an examination table. The nurse asked questions about my medical history and other personal questions that I imagined were standard.

The doctor came in followed by the nurse. She explained to me the steps of the procedure. I lay back on the table with my feet in stirrups. The uncontrollable tears slid down my face and the nurse grabbed my hand in sympathy.

“Honey, you don’t have to do this. Do you want us to call someone for you?” the same nurse asked.

I shook my head no and spoke through the tears, “There is no one.”

I couldn’t be selfish. This wasn’t about me. It was about destroying another life.

More blood on my hands.

They were extremely understanding and reassuring, telling me over and over again that there was no judgment. She explained the aftercare. I nodded the entire time, feigning attention. It happened in less than five minutes.

The last piece of my heart was taken away from me.

A part I knew I would never get back. No matter how much I wanted to. No matter how many times I’d pray. I did this, and I had no one to blame but myself.

The burden was mine to carry.

All I knew was that I cried the entire time. When it was done, they took me into a comfortable room with leather recliners and I curled up in one for a few hours wrapped up in some warm blankets.

Cradling my stomach, mourning the loss of something I wanted so desperately, so f*cking badly. Something I had never even held in my arms.

I didn’t just kill my baby that day.

I. Killed. Me.

I ended up slipping out without being noticed because I didn’t have anyone to pick me up. I probably shouldn’t have driven in my condition, but all I wanted to do was go home.

Once again it was a reminder that I really was alone in this cruel world.

I took a shower the next day, wanting to wash away the misery. I curled up in a little ball, letting the hot water run over my broken body. The tears wouldn’t stop, and my body was shaking to the core. I couldn’t breath.

I kept repeating over and over again, “What have I become? I’m so f*cking sorry, baby. I didn’t have a choice, I’m so so sorry. You’re with grandma and grandpa now, they will take care of you,”

I cried harder, talking to a life that didn’t exist anymore, thinking about my parents and everything that had ever been taken from me. I stayed there till the water was too cold to bear. I grabbed my blanket then buried myself in my bed and sobbed the entire day, so alone. No one to comfort me, hold me, no one to tell me they loved me. That everything was going to be okay. It was like I was that little girl. The one that had no friends, no family, no love.

As if Austin never existed.

But he did and that only made it worse. Because I knew what it was like to have that. To have him. To have everything I ever wanted but for it to be taken from me. Without my say or consent.

My uncle took yet another thing from me.

Adding to the endless pile of things I didn’t have anymore. Things I could never get back.

I placed the ultrasound picture behind my favorite picture in the frame by our bed. That was all I had left.

My memories…

It started to get late after Austin left me pleading for him to stay. I just didn’t want him to go get f*cked up. I didn’t want him to go numb his pain and drown his sorrows with drugs. I wanted him to stay with me and mourn the loss of our baby together. To help each other through it, like a normal loving couple.